Event Horizon
by Quietharm
Summary: This is my rendition of what actually happened during those infamous and enigmatic three years that Vegeta and Bulma spent together while preparing for the arrival of the Androids.
1. Once Upon A Break Up

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Event Horizon: Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. When I do introduce OC's, I will make sure to list them here as needed.

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Capsule Corporation, the Briefs' Estate

Wallowing in a myriad assortment of inflexible emotions, a woman in her early thirties stared up into the scarred face of a man that had brought the raw torment to her face. She swallowed once, then twice, while her azure eyes scanned the chocolate depths of his brown ones. He watched her with an impassive expression that threatened to fall away at any moment, given the slightest hint at tears from her end. She was backed up against a corner, both figuratively and literally. The cool press of the flat wallpaper at her back did nothing to steady her, but somehow deep inside she willed the strength to reach her somehow. She was nothing without it, nothing at all.

Yamcha broke the heavy silence first. "Look Babe, I'm sorry. I can't help it... we aren't getting anywhere and you know it."

Bulma forced down the lump in her throat, counting backwards from one-hundred as the flats of her palms went flush against the wall behind her for further support. She certainly couldn't find that in Yamcha anymore, but he did have a point. "Oh, Yamcha... has it truly come down to just this? All those years together.."

"Don't get me wrong, Bulma. We had a lot of good times together. I wouldn't change that for the world... but you know as well as I do that we can't keep going like this." He tried to come across as reasonable, but she sensed how hard this was for him as well.

"Damn it, Yamcha," she said softly and with feeling, "I put a lot of time into you."

"Wasted time," he corrected sadly.

She risked another look up into those soulful eyes. Her gaze traced the tracks of the haphazard scars that marred his roguish face, inwardly noting their appeal. _I can't believe this is it._ Bulma found herself reminiscing to earlier times, when she first came to notice Yamcha in her youth. She had been a more naive version of her present self then, a silly, flirtatious girl filled with wild notions about boyfriends and love. The way she tilted her chin up to him now, the way she saw him at that very moment... he was suddenly transformed. Gone were the permanent abrasions to his face, gone was the tightness to the mouth and burgeoning crow's feet beneath those dark eyes. He was suddenly a much younger version of himself just then. An adolescent desert bandit, with nothing but a shapeshifting cat for a companion and a mop of unruly black hair. He had that playboy grin, that attitude that set him against the world. He had nothing and everything to prove. A few seconds later, and she was brought back to reality by the lulling sound of his deep voice. Oh, that voice...

"Uh, Bulma? You there?" He waved a hand across her line of vision, after she had apparently drifted elsewhere. The look pasted on her face was elated, and he wondered what for.

Bulma blinked several times, concentrating on the man before her. The young, uncouth boy disappeared in a flash, leaving her standing next to his future counterpart. "Huh? Oh, sorry... I was just thinking."

To Yamcha's great surprise and relief, Bulma wasn't gushing a river yet over their breakup. This had to be the final one, or else they would be doomed to repeat a grim scenario in which both would be well into their eighties and still working out the same cycle over and over again. Quarrel, separation, the makeup, a short-lived peace, and then repeat. It was fine for teenagers, as no one expected any deep commitment of them anyway. It had given them the excitement they needed at that age, paralleling nicely to their several misadventures. Once in their early to mid-twenties, it had evolved into a small nuisance, yet it was still tolerable. Neither was really ready to settle down yet at that time in life. Now they were both at a stage when they knew of friends with wedding bands and young children. While this kept their friends occupied nicely, he and Bulma were still trying to get past the basics of what it meant to be in a committed relationship that didn't involve a breakup every two weeks. It was driving him insane, and he couldn't take it anymore. Yamcha was nearly certain that Bulma felt the same way.

"You know, you're right." Bulma's breathy voice cut through his dreading thoughts. "We can't go on this way. It just isn't healthy." She broke words to him for a minute, before continuing, "I'll always care for you, Yamcha.."

He hung his head, but nodded in response, "I know. I always be there for you too, Bulma."

"I'm sorry..."

He held up one finger, effectively shutting off any further excuses that she might have made. "Don't be. It's mutual."

The blue-haired woman admired him just then. He was being a lot deeper with her than he had in a long time, perhaps more than ever. Had he really matured so effectively? Had she failed to notice the change, so kept up with the predictability of their unstable relationship? Whatever the reason, she respected him for it. "Thank you, Yamcha."

As if from some unseen signal, the two embraced. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend, but as friends. They had closed that previous chapter that had kept them reading into disillusions for so long, and now they were ready to write the new one on a more platonic level. As they drew apart, Bulma once again saw that familiar glint in his eyes, the one that was unmistakably him. It signified a change towards better times between them, and fresh starts.

In her mind's eye, Bulma was once again reminded of that unproven boy who used to smile at her in such a way that her insides turned to jelly. She would always keep memories like those safe within her, even upon her deathbed.

They now stood apart, realistically only by a few feet, but it might have been miles over a trench so deep that no bridge could ever breach it again. Strangely enough, they were each content with their share. Never again would pass over that gaping maw, that dividing line that gave way to a couple status. It was finally over.

Bulma made the first move, stepping carefully around Yamcha to give him his space. She rubbed at her eyes, shaking her head as if to clear it. _Boy, do I feel like hell. Some day this turned out to be._ "Well, I better go find Dad and see if I can help him with his newest toy."

Yamcha hesitated, knowing his cue to leave. "Alright. Sure you are going to be ok?"

"Yeah, I'll survive." She gave him a thumbs up, aided by a faint smile. Ok, so she wasn't completely alright, but it was as good as it was going to get at that moment. Time would eventually come in and fix the other loose ends. Perhaps it wasn't the relationship itself that she would miss, perhaps it was something else. It could have been the very nature of the thing, the ability to rely on the predictability. Yeah, that had to be it.

"Yeah, ok. I'll see you around, then." He paused awkwardly.

She retreated back a few more steps, making a sweeping motion with her hands in order to relieve the slight tension assailing the air. "You know the way out."

He flashed her a small grin, and she could only return it. At least they were departing on good terms. They both had needed to do this at some point or another, and she couldn't think of a better time. He had been the first to bring it up, after a short session of cuddling on the couch in the den while playing movies. As teenagers, it had been absolutely ridiculous to rent the motion pictures in the first place. All of their attention had been diverted to heavy petting and long makeout regimes. Sadly enough, the last year or so actually gave them the time to pay close attention to the plots on their habitual movie nights. They were never all over each other like they used to when they were a pair of raging hormones. In fact, their very last fight had been over separate perceptions in reference to a particular comedy they had watched. Neither could take the other's rendition of it, and so instead of agreeing to disagree, it had opened up an entirely new can of worms... all over a movie, nonetheless. 

Yeah, this final breakup had to be it, or they would both be in the local mental ward before they hit forty. "Bye, Babe."

"Bulma. Call me Bulma now," she reminded him.

"Oops, yeah. Old habits die hard, huh?"

She favored him with a shaky smile as he showed her his backside and exited the house. Bulma groaned, sidling up to a comfortable couch before allowing herself to unceremoniously flop down upon it. _Did I just make the biggest mistake of my life? What if... _There she was again, jumping back into the old mindset. It always made her hold on to a single, shining strand of hope. It was some crazy belief that things would eventually become better for herself and Yamcha as they aged, even though they never did. Forget it.

As she held her hand to the cool perspiration at her forehead, Bulma suddenly got the impression she was being watched. One eyelid flicked open, staring straight ahead at first. The second eyelid soon followed suit, causing her to crane her neck up and over to the archway leading into the elaborate foyer. A familiar and unwanted presence emanated from the spot, like an old spill or stain in the carpeting. Vegeta stood there, arms crossed as he leaned casually up against the wall. He was wearing a pair of dark pants and a white tank top along with boots, which was odd indeed. To have him garbed in anything other than Saiyan armor or the pastel colored clothing that she had conned him into wearing more than once was a change, but not necessarily a bad one. A smug smile had fixated itself to his mouth, tugging it mercilessly up in one corner. There was a dark gleam to his eye, as if he were amused with the entire situation. The moment he noticed that she was aware of his person, however, he shuttered down his expression into a hard, indifferent glare.

"Oh, hell... what do you want, Vegeta?" She was not in the mood for his goading, if that were indeed what he stood there for. How much had he heard, or witnessed, even?

He jerked away from the frame of the arch, angling himself away towards the kitchen. A scowl deepened the creases already indenting his high-set temple. "Food, what else?"

She waved him off, almost dismissively. "I'm not in the mood. Go get it yourself."

The displeased Prince glowered even further, a hint of warning in his voice when he spoke next. "Get your lazy ass off that couch, woman. I do not need to ask you twice."

"Did you hear me, or what?" She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, refraining from bursting out into a tirade of obscenities. It hadn't been even a month since she had given Vegeta the right to free room and board within her house. She knew she was to regret the decision even from the outset, but she hadn't really been fully prepared to see the errors of her ways. In the last few weeks since his arrival, Vegeta had made nearly every day a living hell for both her and her parents. The only relief that came to the three was when Vegeta was away, training in the GR. When it malfunctioned, she was the first to know. Bulma was also the first to repair it, saving her father from the task. After all, she was the one that had to take responsibility for the absolute monster she had invited into the household. There was not a day that went by that Vegeta made her sorely regret that initial decision of allowing him to stay with them, but she also knew in the long run it was for the best. As was foretold, the Earth as they knew it would be in dire straights indeed if Androids which were to come in less than three years had no one to stand up to them. Her personal sufferance was for the greater good, she reasoned. By putting up with a homicidal bastard for three years, she could save the people of Earth who depended on Capsule Corp. for so many things, other than their lives.

Thankfully, her father's reaction to Vegeta insofar had only been a muttered comment now and again, besides steering clear of him altogether if possible. Her mother was a bit more dense on the subject, and constantly flitted to and fro about the Prince as if he were nothing but a pleasant houseguest that would be making a longer stay than most did. The staff around the compound had much better sense, just as he father did. They made sure to stay out of Vegeta's way. No one was too keen on becoming a charred and blackened hole in the ground, or so it seemed.

Vegeta growled, switching positions so that he closed the distance between them at a brisk clip. With more force than was necessary, he brought his hand down and jerked Bulma roughly to her feet before shoving her forward. "When I say something, I mean do it!"

Bulma lost it right then and there. When she regained her footing, she whirled on him, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "You asshole! Look, I just broke up with Yamcha--" She sniffed, and then added, "--And I don't need your bullying right now!"

He just shook his head, slowly back and forth. "You pathetic creature. Simpering and pining for that weak fool... do you actually think I give a damn about your irrational feelings? Go get me something to eat, woman. I do not care how you do it, just don't cook!"

"Bastard!" she screamed, raising one fist. "I am so not taking this! You know you could ask anybody here to get you something, yet you nag me about it! Besides, whatever is between Yamcha and I is our **_own business_**, you got that?! I don't give a _flying_ _fuck_ about what you think of our situation, but I don't need your negative commentary, either!!!

In a movement so fast it bewildered her, he caught the slender circumference of the pale wrist held above her head. It was just a motion, a gesture to further supplicate her fury towards him. She would never actually be stupid enough to bring her fist down on him; she wasn't suicidal just yet. For some reason that she couldn't fathom, he appeared to take it that way. _Oh yeah, Vegeta. I'm a real threat to your well being._ The hand encircling her wrist tightened into a crushing pressure, before he twisted slightly. She cried out in pain, feeling her knees give out from beneath her. Oh, Kami... it hurt so much. Was that his plan to get her to do his bidding, by breaking her wrist? She should have known better than to incur his wrath so quickly. Sometimes it just couldn't be helped. Vegeta was a ticking time bomb, no matter what situation you placed him in.

He applied force to the point at which he held her arm, pushing her away at the exact point she felt the tendons in her hand stretch themselves beyond their normal limit. Staggering backwards in a manner that nearly made her hit the carpeting shoulder-first, Bulma winced as she held her damaged wrist by the opposite hand. Experimentally, she moved it to and fro, biting down on her lower lip at the realization that it was sprained. Oh, that little...

"That is nothing. I could easily send you into the next dimension just by the force in one of my fingers. You tempt me greatly. Be thankful I only keep you alive to repair the training simulator." He narrowed his eyes down disdainfully at the way she held her wrist oh-so-carefully.

"You.. you son-of-a..."

He raised one hand, while the dim glow of a silent energy began to gravitate around his closed fist. She abruptly shut up.

Giving him a murderous glare instead, Bulma hastened out of the living room. Oh, how she hated him. Her wrist would no doubt require the healing aide of a cast, and it would be no easy thing to hide the injury from the rest of the world. _At least it's not broken._

She left him standing there in the middle of the den, surrounded by his own inner dealings. She couldn't even begin to comprehend why he did what he did, but then again she wasn't all that willing to, either. As soon as she could inform one of the staff to place an order for several large pizzas, she could be left to the relative peace of her room for the night. She found herself missing Yamcha already, but not for the reasons she should have. It would have been nice to have someone else stand up for her; but then again she had kept pretty quiet about her domestic plight. She didn't dare tell Goku, the one individual on the planet that could actually take on Vegeta without an army of nuclear missiles at their back. If she did, that would be one less Saiyan to fight against the onslaught of the Androids, and that narrowed down Earth's chances significantly. No matter how self-absorbed she might be, she wasn't that selfish. There would come a time when Vegeta would finally be out of the picture, and she couldn't wait for that day.

The only question remaining was this: Would she survive to see it?

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-AN: Well, that's the first chapter for Event Horizon, my fanfic set during those first three years. I know I started this before I finished Doubts, but that's almost over with anyways, so I just decided to go ahead and get this chapter in here. I have quite a few twists and turns planned along the way, so this won't be typical, but at the same time it -won't- be an AU. I want to realistically portray what actually might have happened during those three years between Bulma and Vegeta (and yes, Yamcha is not a cheater in this fic) ...let me know what you think so far. Without you guys, this fic is nothing, so thanks a bunch for your support so far!

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	2. Parental Advice

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Event Horizon: Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. When I do introduce OC's, I will make sure to list them here as needed (basically the same 'ol disclaimer stuff from last time).

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Capsule Corporation, the Briefs' Estate...

"Why yes, Dave. I do believe this fine silverware dining set -can- be yours for only eight low monthly payments of---"

*BLEEP!*

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"...And here we have the savage Pygmy Marmoset, basking in all of its natural glory..."

*BLEEP!*

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"Heeeeey kids...!!! Make sure to pester your parents for this hot new---"

*BLEEP!*

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"And in other news, Enjinn Technologies has announced its new CEO, Kit Karr..."

Bulma breathed a defeated sigh as she finally selected a glossy black screen that failed to emit noise instead of a brain-draining display of moving picture. There was absolutely nothing on, or at least nothing worth watching. Groaning, she stretched out both of her arms and swept them to either side of the couch she was currently sitting in. Her left hand came to settle on the backside of the sofa comfortably, but when her right touched down...

"Ouch!"

She winced. Throughout the process of boredly flipping through several different channels, she had completely forgotten about her injury. The teal-haired scientist had wasted no time in getting herself down to the med-wing of the compound. She soon learned that she had a very nasty sprain to her wrist, and cursed Vegeta's name throughout the entire process of wrapping it up with a splint. _Thanks, Vegeta. Asshole._

How did she ever agree to letting him stay with her and her parents? He was the most rude, egotistical houseguest that had ever dared set foot on the property.

Yet they tolerated it. Because of the Androids.

Bulma mentally cursed their coming, even though it wasn't the first time. If they weren't a very real threat, she would waste no time in telling Goku to send Vegeta packing into the afterlife. Logically, it made sense that the wealthiest people on the planet should harbor a potential savior for Earth and provide as much of their resources as possible in training them for the great threat to come. Sometimes Bulma despised logic, even though most of her hobbies depended on it.

"Oh, Yamcha." she voiced aloud. It was times like these that she wished she had someone to confide into. Yamcha was great with physicality, but he wasn't the greatest listener in the world. Hell, he often didn't seem to be listening at all when she poured her guts into him. He would usually just stare into space or at something that provoked his interest, all the while nodding along with 'Uh-huh', and 'Yeah Babe'. It made her furious, but deep down she was thankful she had someone to vent to, even if he didn't care much. Talking about it helped, but she might as well confess her soul to a brick wall rather than Yamcha. It just wasn't worth it.

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Oh well, at least I had someone pretending to care. Now I have no one.

She couldn't call Yamcha up on the phone, so close to their break up. Even though they were supposedly friends now, she didn't want him to see her as crawling back so quickly. If she did that, he just might begin to think she was secretly asking for another round. No way. She realized they definitely needed time apart, friends or not... and this included not speaking for at least a week or two, until things simmered down.

While she had been absorbed with these thoughts, she failed to notice her blonde mother sway into the room.

"Oh dear, there you are! What are you doing sitting here, all alone? You should have that nice boy Yamcha come over and keep you company."

Bulma rolled her eyes and carefully placed her hands in her lap, mindful of her injury this time. "I can't, Mom. Yamcha and I broke up yesterday."

"Again? Poor Yamcha. You should get on the phone and make-up with him so you two can go out and have some fun."

"Please, Mom!" Bulma leaned forward before standing upright. She turned to face the rather vacuous woman, hands going to her hips. Once again, she had forgotten about her wound. In all of her boiling frustration at her mother's redundant prattle, she had temporarily looked over the fact that she had a swollen hand that was tender to the touch.

Even though Mrs. Briefs was ignorant to most things, she didn't miss the look of discomfort that passed over Bulma's face. Rushing over like the mother hen she was, she stared down at her daughter's injury with round eyes. "Oh, Bulma dear... let me see that. What did you do to yourself?"

Bulma was momentarily torn. Should she tell her mother about Vegeta flipping out last night? Even if she did, would Mrs. Briefs believe it? For some reason or another, her mother just couldn't seem to realize that there were actually evil people out there. Everyone around her existed in a world where lions and sheep slept together in peace. Anything and everything was perfect through her rosy glasses. Sometimes Bulma wondered how a genius like her father had gotten hitched to her dunce of a mother. Had he been smoking something?

In the end, she lied. She lied for many reasons. One, her mother wouldn't ever be brought to believe 'that sweet boy' could ever harm anyone or anything, even when he had decimated entire worlds. Secondly, it would only bring her father to finding a way to rid the Briefs family of Vegeta once and for all, even if it meant enlisting the help of Goku. That would severely limit Earth's chances of surviving the ordeal with the Androids. Hell, she could be selfish, and she knew it... but not selfish enough to kill of an entire world.

"I accidentally slammed it into a door. Stupid, huh?" She smiled, even though it faltered. Kami, she hated herself for saying it. She was only letting herself give into the abuse he wrought upon her by keeping quiet, but she had pretty high stakes set upon her shoulders for doing so. Damn that Saiyan. Damn him!

"Oh. Well, you should be more careful around doors, dear. Maybe I should ask your father to install doors that automatically open and close, like at the grocery store..."

Bulma used her good hand to smack her forehead. Not only did she look like a complete klutz; even her own mindless mother was considering her a fool. Now that said something. "No, Mom. That's ok. I'll be more careful next time, I promise."

"Ok, honey. I'm just worried, that's all." Mrs. Briefs' tone was sincere.

Bulma nodded and smiled, more genuinely this time. "Yeah, I know Mom." It was at times like these when she already had an answer to the question of how her father saw anything in her mother. Her father was a good person, and it was likewise with her mother. Even though their intellects mismatched greatly, the two had other qualities that went hand-in-hand.

"Good! Now, where is that nice Vegeta? Have you seen him lately?"

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Yeah, I have. In my nightmares and every day that I'm awake. She now force-fed her smile to stay in place, but it undoubtedly wavered. "He's probably in the Gravity Room, like always. You know Vegeta." She laughed anxiously, in hopes of curing any doubts that her mother might conjure on the great off chance.

"He is such a dedicated young man. And a looker, too!" Mrs. Briefs fanned her face, her eyes closing and reopening several times. "I'm sure you've noticed, but then Yamcha is nice too."

Bulma's only reaction was stupefied horror. "Mother!" Her indignant cry burst from her throat. "Aren't you worried that Dad will hear you?" Deep down, she was well aware of Vegeta's physical appeal. Too bad looks didn't match personality.

"Your father knows it's all in good fun. Besides, it _is _somewhat difficult to not notice all the good-looking men you bring around." Her mother had a point, which was extremely rare.

"Yeah, well... where is Dad, anyhow?"

The abrupt change in subjects did nothing to distill Mrs. Briefs' composure. She took the switch easily, without any sign of confusion whatsoever. It would have been disconcerting, had Bulma not known her mother's ability to lack suspicion in all things. "He is in his lab, of course... tinkering with some new invention or another." After a moment, she rapidly switched course, much like Bulma had done. "I think I should go work on the flowerbeds today before supper. My poor roses... wilting in this heat!" She began to wind down on the severe drought they had been having lately, making several mundane comments about the lack of water the soil was receiving.

Bulma sighed, and nodded bleakly along with her mother's statements. She felt absurdly like Yamcha now, and a twinge of guilt hit her like an unseen brick. "That's great, Mom. I'm gonna go find Dad, ok?"

"Ok," Mrs. Briefs tittered, already sweeping over to the foyer to exit the house and pick up on her gardening. "I'll see you at dinner, dear." She gave a little wave, and removed herself from the dwelling as if she had never arrived in the first place.

Shaking her head as if to clear it, Bulma made haste to find her father. She needed company badly, and although her mother was good for support, she wasn't the best for critical opinions. Her father would listen, undoubtedly. Who knew; perhaps she would even reveal to him the reason for her injury... if he could keep it quiet from everyone else, that was.

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The Briefs' Estate, Dr. Briefs' Laboratory...

"Dad?"

Bulma peered inquisitively around the corner of the automatic double doors of her father's lab. It wasn't completely true that the Briefs family didn't have automatic doors installed where the situation merited it. From her vantage point, Bulma could distinctly see the white lab coat shouldered across her father's back as he was turned away from her. His shoulders repeatedly rose and fell, just as he was adjusting some latent screws on the newest prototype for a line of air cars. His head was dipped low in front of him as he strained to see underneath the vehicle, so it appeared to his daughter than he had none at all.

"Yes, Bulma?" he replied without looking up.

"Uh... I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no. I'm just finishing the last of the calibrations on the new fuel cell."

"Really?" With her curiosity now piqued, Bulma came around to stand on Dr. Briefs' left side as she examined the work he had finished up until that point. He continued fiddling, heedless of her movement. After a moment or two had gone by without a word passed between them, he risked a question.

"What brings you here? Usually you prefer to be in your own laboratory."

"Well, you know.." She shrugged indeterminately.

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"Well, I just got done talking to Mom..."

"Ah," he replied, as if he suddenly understood everything. He finally took the opportunity to stand straight before wiping at the faint sheen of perspiration that had collected at his silver brow. Dropping the tool he had been using into a box filled with an assortment of others, he dusted off the palms of his hands in a swiping motion and turned towards her.

"You know, Dad.." Bulma tipped her head earnestly to the side a few degrees, eyeing him with concern, "You seem to find yourself in here more often than I'm in my own lab. Do you have a deadline or what?"

Dr. Briefs momentarily paled, but whatever had gotten to him in Bulma's offhand comment was quickly camouflaged. "Supply and demand. You know how it is." He winked, giving her one of his 'good 'ol boy' smiles. _That must of been what first caught Mom's attention_, she thought idly.

Why was she suddenly so interested in her parent's love life? It didn't make sense. Usually it was just a nasty fact never to be spoken or thought about. _Maybe I'm trying to understand my own love life through the history of others._ Whoa... did she even want to go there?

"Yeah, sure... Dad." Her voice came to her in an uncertain waver, and Dr. Briefs picked up on it right away.

"Something wrong, dear?"

"Well, um.. this is kind of embarrassing, and I don't want to bug you with my problems..."

"You couldn't talk to your mother about it, could you?"

"No," she responded quietly.

"I agree. Sometimes I find myself speaking with my colleagues on various problems, rather than bringing it to up to her... wait... Bulma, whatever happened to your hand!?" Her father headed over, before bringing up the elbow of her injured arm with his calloused hand. Holding it up to the light, he scrutinized the token that Vegeta had left her with. "What did you do?"

It had definitely taken Dr. Briefs longer to notice the bandages when compared with the flighty Mrs. Briefs, but then again he appeared to be confounded by some problem he wouldn't speak of just yet. Bulma understood this entirely, and so therefore she didn't press him on it. Some matters were best left solely to her father, especially since he was quite capable of sorting most of them out all by his lonesome.

"I.. well..." Did she dare continue with the lie she had willingly given her mother earlier? _No, Dad would never go for that_, she surmised. She had to tell him the truth. In one quick exhalation of air, she tensely admitted, "Vegeta and I got into a fight, and he hurt my hand."

Anger flashed behind Dr. Briefs' eyes, and his shoulders immediately squared off.

"---But," Bulma immediately rushed to finish her sentence before her father exploded, "I egged him on. I shouldn't have.. maybe I even deserved it." _Like hell I did._

The fury behind her father's expression dissipated a bit, enough for him to speak reasonably. "Bulma... I fully understand the danger we are in... the danger everyone on Earth is in... but I am really beginning to doubt that we can keep Vegeta here much longer."

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He makes Vegeta sound like an unwanted dog that has more bite than bark. "Dad..."

"No, hear me out." He held up one hand, before placing the other on one of her shoulders in a light, comforting gesture. "He is more trouble than he is worth... surely you understand this. Your friend Goku..."

"...Is the **_only _**thing keeping us from certain annihilation," she concluded smoothly. "Yeah, I know. But still... we need all the chances we can get. I can take an injury or two, Dad. What I can't take is completely accepting the fact that by ridding ourselves of Vegeta, we are knowingly doing away with all hopes for Earth."

"But Bulma, he **_hurt_** you."

"Dad, please..."

Dr. Briefs became silent for a long stretch of time, looking forlorn. His eyes continually danced between his daughter's sincere face and the injury she sustained at Vegeta's hands, as if weighing the options. At long last he sighed, giving in to Bulma much as he always did. With a light, worried pat on the shoulder his hand had rested upon, he remarked, "You have a good heart, dear. Sometimes I wonder, however..." He turned away, as if ending the subject then and there.

Bulma blinked... once, twice. _Wow, he didn't put up as much of a fight as I thought he would_. _Something really must be troubling him. Oh well, if its really bad he will definitely come to me about it when he's good and ready..._

"Thanks for the second opinion, Dad. I really needed it."

"Not a problem, Bulma. You know you can tell me anything."

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I can, but you can't.

Bulma forced a smile and a small nod, heading back towards the door that turned into the hallway. "Yeah, thanks. I think I'll go check on our houseguest... see how he's doing."

Dr. Briefs' worried call stopped her in her tracks as if drifted over his shoulder, "Do you really think that is wise, Bulma?"

"Maybe not, but someone has to keep an eye on him."

"Be careful..."

"I will." As his last words faded away and she rounded the corner, Bulma couldn't help but to replay the previous scene with her father in her mind. What had gotten him all spooked? Probably jitters on how the public would view his new air car, or something like it. Then again, Dr. Briefs had never become nervous with the unveiling of his previous invention.

Hmm... interesting.

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**__**

Capsule Corporation, The Gravity Room...

Time found Bulma standing just outside the Gravity Simulator that she had single-handedly invented and continued to repair on nearly a bi-weekly basis. For some reason or another, Vegeta had the awful habit of breaking his presents.

While standing just outside the domed structure, the ocean-eyed woman began to contemplate the logic of walking in on a training Saiyan. She could plainly hear all of the crashes and thuds resounding beneath the GR, and from what her ears told her it was definitely violent. Despite this, she had longed to sit Vegeta down and have a good chat with him about the difference in threats and actually acting upon them. Not that he would listen, of course, but she refused to be cowed by the bully. If telling him her piece meant a broken bone here or there... well, then so be it. With more bravery than she felt, Bulma punched in the access code that would permit her entrance into the Gravity Room.

Immediately after the string of numbers were entered, the safety mechanism she had deliberately installed into the simulator kicked in. The doors slid aside with a hiss, just as the gravity level within the chamber fell to normal. She heard a distinct thud from within that had nothing to do with a last ki blast ricocheting off one of the walls. As she walked purposefully into the room, she was greeted by the sight of Vegeta on his knees, propped up by one outstretched fist for support. He was panting heavily, just like a jogger would after a strenuous run.

Only this jogger looked about ready to kill every last car that had ever dared to sideswipe him.

"WOMAN," he bit out furiously.

"Ohhhh no, not this time you don't." She strode right on up to him, so that the toes of her shoes came into his viewpoint as he stared at the ground.

In a blur of speed and light, he was on his feet again, eyes shooting her way in a lethal question that simply asked why she had ever been dumb enough to cross the threshold of the Gravity Room. _His_ threshold. "I don't like surprises, woman." The words were low and calculated, much like the violence he threatened her with by his every action.

Bulma held up her bandaged hand like a trophy, right between his burning eyes. "Surprise!"

He seemed readily surprised by that maneuver; whether it was the sight of her hand in bandages or the way she suddenly brought up her arm, she couldn't tell. With a contemptuous snort, the surprise fell away and he turned from her, arms crossed. "You are an imbecile."

She feigned empathy for his lack there of. "Oh Vegeta, I'm touched by your concern..." Her tenor was sugar-sweet and loaded with dripping sarcasm.

"_Shut-up_, baka!" He did an abrupt about face, rounding on her. "Get out. I do not care about your pathetic injuries. If you are so weak that you..."

He was interrupted by a swaggering finger in front of his face, produced by Bulma's good hand. "Now Vegeta, don't get too over-emotional about this... I know you didn't mean it and we are still on the best of terms..."

He went stock still in what looked like shock, but only for a split second. _"GET OUT, WOMAN! _You are insane!!!"

At last, Bulma reverted back to her normal demeanor, now content that her words had riled Vegeta satisfactorily. She had set out for revenge, and here she had taken it. "Alright, alright. A girl can take a hint." As she turned away, she was happy to note that for once it was she who was departing with the smug smirk. Confronting Vegeta within his safe house was nothing short of an attempt at suicide, but all seemed to fall into place.

If he wanted to play the game, who was she to turn him down?

Bulma left him standing there, at the center of the Gravity Room. As soon as the doors slid shut with a whoosh of departing air, the menacing scowl on Vegeta's face came loose. He looked sufficiently confused, but only long enough to mutter a litany of half-heard curses and oaths that weren't even fully rationalized by his own mind. He returned to an enraged training session, berating himself for letting her get the best of him. What he should have done was squeeze the life out of her throat right then and there.

Yes, what he should have done...

In the meantime, Bulma was taking an upbeat walk back to her room. She was reveling in the look of astonishment she had seen characterized in Vegeta's expression, although she couldn't understand at all exactly why he had appeared that way. If she were to guess, she would have supposed that he would simply yell, then laugh, and then yell again. Maybe hit her up a bit or kill her somewhere in between as well, but not seem.. well.. surprised. Huh.

Things were getting way too complicated in her life, especially since her break-up with Yamcha. Hell, even participating in the the on again-off again relationship that she had shared with Yamcha was beginning to look like child's play.

Bulma consciously readied herself for one achingly long night...

______________________________________________________________________________

A/N: Well, there is Chapter Two. Remember to read between the lines... and tell me what you think so far. R&R!

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	3. Crash Course

**__**

Event Horizon: Chapter Three

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine..

****

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Capsule Corporation, the Briefs' Estate...

Night came quickly for the residents of Capsule Corporation. Bulma was up late as usual, sitting cross-legged atop her queen-sized bed. She had bid her parents a quick goodnight before retiring to bed, but as always she was kept awake by the multitude of thoughts, ideas and memories that assaulted her conscious being. Instead of fighting wakefulness, she decided on giving in to it instead. For the second time in less than three hours, she was propped up in front of a television set. This version was much smaller than its cousin in the den below her; it sat perched across the room on the broad expanse of her solid oak dresser.

__

Boy, I never watch this much TV in one day, she mused.

She would make sure to thank Kami if by some small miracle she could find some rambling infomercial on some entrepreneur's 'amazing' new line of cotton swabs. It would be a quick, merciful ending to the burgeoning exhaustion that never did seem to overtake her around that hour.

Scouting through several channels again, Bulma let a low sigh wind through half-parted lips. It didn't seem luck would be with her that night. With a small adjustment to the bandaged wrist she had stuck up upon a square pillow beside her, the woman took one last gamble with the stubborn television. As soon as her good hand selected the next set of moving pictures with one tap of an idle finger upon the surface of her bedside remote, her attention was sharply caught.

It was a blonde newscaster, seated in the normal fashion in front of a blue screen. Just above the upper left hand corner of his head was a commonplace in-picture box, which portrayed the still-life photo of a woman with flame-orange hair. As the reported droned on, Bulma began to actually listen in to what he had to say. She could have sworn she heard that _name_ mentioned somewhere before...

"...Kit Karr declined commentary today about the sudden rise of her multi-billion dollar business and what Enjinn Technologies has in store for their mega-buck rival, Capsule Corporation. With the sudden popularity in their newest product line, we can only sit back and watch as the two behemoths battle it out. Until then, this is Yiogi Tao, signing out. Back to you, Ro---"

Bulma wasted no time in hitting the off button on the remote. A tinge of worry tilted her lips down into a frown. Was this the reason that her father had seemed so preoccupied that day? Why hadn't he even bothered to mention that another business was actually catching up to Capsule Corp.?

Where worry had first been her initial emotion, a rush of anger swept in to take its place. How dare he! She was a very large part of Capsule Corporation as well, and here her very own father was keeping secrets from her. Just like Vegeta always did.

She shook her head as if to clear it, raising her uninjured hand to her temple.

Paranoid. That was the word for it. It was crazy to think that anyone at all could ever get a foothold over C.C. They were the strongest company name anywhere and everywhere, and it was insane to think that would change over a matter of days. She would believe a few decades, or even at least a matter of years over a gradual period of time, but her father had put too much of his heart and soul into what they had made of themselves. He was simply a genius like herself, and everyone knew it.

...So therefore it was nonsensical to believe that some young woman with short orange hair and muddy-brown eyes could steal all of that away in a flash. Besides, just what had she made that had caused such an uproar? For a moment, Bulma regretted on turning the channel to that particular one so late in the report. If there was some new product out there with such popularity that wasn't a creation of Capsule Corp, wouldn't she have noticed? _Yeah._

Duh. See? Nothing to worry about.

Making the resolution to confront her father about it in the morning, Bulma stretched her limbs, grimacing as she contorted her wrist at the joint, once again forgetting about its presence. Some genius she was if her long-term memory was on the fritz. With another drafted sigh, she fell back onto the mattress like a rag doll, sprawled out like she was ready to attempt a snow angel on the bed sheets. With the lights still on, she lay there and stared blankly up at the ceiling. It was at times like these when her thoughts drifted to Vegeta.

That pompous, arrogant loafer. She felt the first tide of quiet anger stir within her as she shot a look over to her wounded wrist, face turning to follow her gaze. It was quite true that she had made him angry before he'd done it, hell, she even wanted to arouse his temper. Around that point in time, she was so kept with the memory of Yamcha that it just didn't seem fair that he could be his usual demanding self while she sat on the sofa feeling lost.

She wasn't regretting breaking up with Yamcha for that final time in the least. Sure, she'd always care for the ignorant guy. It was just... regret.

Regret that so much time had been invested without a thing to show for in the end. _Wasted time_, Yamcha had said. He had never been more right.

A growling low in her abdomen interrupted her reverie, causing her to roll her eyes a little. Perfect timing, if she ever knew it. She tried to suppress the warnings her stomach was giving her, and it instantly brought her back to thinking of Vegeta's own insatiable hunger. Even though she fought valiantly to control it, she soon lost to the sudden onslaught of complaints issued by her traitorous stomach. _Takes one to know one._

Groaning now, Bulma swung over on one side, mindful of her wrist as she set a pair of bare feet against the cool, flat carpet. A little push, and then she stood, walking towards the door to the bedroom. Her fingers reached out, gripping the metallic handle and twisting in. The barrier between herself and the outside hallway gave without a fight, swinging inward with a silent glide.

Bulma padded out into the long stretch of darkness to either side of her. From what she could tell, the seam of light from beneath her parent's bedroom was non-existent. Her mother was most likely fast asleep, dreaming of sugarplums and dancing fairies. If she had to place a bet on it, she would guess that her father was still out in his lab, either asleep himself or still working on his inventions with zombie-like movements.

Why was she walking around the dark house that late? Another low vibration in her belly swiftly reminded her of her purpose, and she plodded on. _Oh yeah._

There, she was at the pinnacle of the stairs, just before they descended into the foyer below. Take a couple of turns and she would be instantly in the kitchen, no problem. She couldn't see a damn thing, but she restrained herself from flicking on lights when she figured it wouldn't take that long to snatch up a midnight snack from the fridge and return to her room. After all, just how many times had she followed the same route as a kid, unknown as it were to her parents?

Too many to make this same endeavor even borderline difficult, that was for sure.

So with confidence measured with each step she took, she descended the stairwell... only to knock into something solid and unmoving on the third step. She lost her balance, teetering on one leg as she shot out one hand to catch herself on the banister before she plunged forward.

There was only one problem with that move, unfortunately. It would have worked under any other circumstance, but... that was her _bad_ hand that just scrabbled to grab a firm hold of the railing beside her.

**__**

Shit.

The hot flash of pain drilling up her arm was nothing compared to the screech that followed. Her good hand attempted to brace herself against the wall in front of her, but to her shock and horror that 'wall' was suddenly pliant and gave way. There was a surprised grunt from within it, followed by a hissed "_Woman!_" as Vegeta lost his bearings right there on the stairwell. If he hadn't been blasted in the ears with the woman's squall, he would have not been distracted by her firm shove. He could have steadied them both.

Sadly, this was not the case.

With a chorus of cries and curses, the two went tumbling down the stairs, rolling over the jutting edges of each single step. The close proximity of the railings on either side of the living bowling ball kept them from falling apart from one another, forcing them to endure the crazy chute ride until the end.

When they finally did reach the base of the stairs, it was Vegeta who landed first. His forehead smacked roughly up against the tile floor, while Bulma was not too far behind. The teal-haired scientist landed gracelessly across the backs of his legs, while one of his muscular thighs pinned her bandaged hand beneath him. Needless to say, the attack on his eardrums was far from over.

"**_VEGETA!_**" She yowled, trying to force his leg off of her throbbing wrist, "You **BASTARD**! Get off my _hand!!!_"

At first, sound returned to him as if listening down a long tube. He would have preferred it stay that way, because he soon seriously pondering grinding her hand beneath his leg right then and there. The deflection of his head against the expensive ceramic tile was a pounding, painful affliction. He had had far worse before, so in truth this was really nothing. Just more annoyance that accompanied being in the presence of the banshee positioned in a heap over his back legs. Vegeta finally made the decision to stand, if only to make Bulma let up on her screams.

As Vegeta did a push-up with his hands and rolled aside, Bulma let a pent up sigh of pure relief escape her lips. "Oh, Kami!" She deftly snatched her hand away from the spot under which it had been imprisoned, holding it to her chest with nurturing care. The woman shuffled into a kneeling stance, attempting to regain her composure while Vegeta finally got to his feet.

Even though she couldn't see it, she knew he was glowering down at her with a malicious glare that harbored the need to kill for the infraction he had suffered at her clumsiness. After the waves of agony began to settle somewhat in her tortured hand, she risked a glance up. Yeah, she had just about hit the nail on the head with that one, even if she couldn't entirely make out his face in the lack of light. The waves of fury radiating from his person told her all she needed to know. _You can just call me 'Psychic Bulma'._

"What the in the _hell_ was that?" he spat, without giving her even a chance to speak her piece first.

"You idiot!" She righted herself and stood, pushing aside the anguish that he had dutifully rekindled in her wrist. "This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't been there! Hell, learn to turn on some lights!" Her ragged accusation seemed to do a decent job of covering over the fact that she was guilty of exactly the same thing.

Vegeta snorted, before snarling, "You insane bitch... I can see far better than a human can in any light. You should be the one turning on lights, not I."

"Oh yeah?" she answered in kind, bundling up her good hand into a tight fist. "Well, you.. uh, that is.." She lost some of her attack, based on his snidely honest observation. She tried again, but with less power to her words than before. "You could have at least warned me that you were there!"

"I do not put much effort on sensing the ki of weaklings like yourself every fucking minute of the day. You are the fool that fell into me, without my knowledge." His growled utterances pinned his logic onto her, causing Bulma to send him a glare without much leverage.

So she had surprised him. That was new. The heiress of Capsule Corporation had always been one to think that Vegeta never let anything or anyone get the better of him, not if he had anything to say about it. In this very instance it seemed to be the case, but did he think her so low that she wasn't even worth sensing? He acted like he had just tripped over an insignificant stray animal that had unwittingly run between his feet. Kami, but it made her furious.

"You are a complete asshole, Vegeta. Quit acting like the world revolves around you. Another one may have at one point in time, but this one sure as hell doesn't. There are other people living in this house, people that actually _own_ it, and it would do us a load of good if you would just realize that!"

Both of his eyebrows dipped low against the upper half of his eyes, outlining them with arrogance. Her words hit a chord with him, and he wasn't about to let the sting pass unnoticed. "Idiot creature. Need I remind you again of who I am? You and those that spawned you are nothing to me, and never will be. As soon as I am strong enough..."

"Oh, shut-up Vegeta. You keep repeating the same damn thing over and over again. It is _sooo_ old." Bulma crossed her arms against her chest, tucking her injury into the crook of the opposite forearm as a measure of protection. He had not only hurt her wrist in the first place, but now he had reversed nearly one good day of healing. She wasn't about to let that happen again if she could help it. "I don't care if you are going to help us with the Androids or not, but you will NOT insult my parents for any reason."

"Do not provoke me, woman." His voice was now dangerously low, threaded with some dark emotion she couldn't pinpoint outright. "You do not know the danger your pathetic words place you in." He took a calculating step closer to her, as if to prove his point.

She didn't even flinch, although the move didn't go altogether unnoticed. Deep down, she was scared to death. It was like telling your executioner to go to hell right before he put you up on the chopping block. One could damn well bet that he wasn't going to aim for the right place on your neck and get it over with in one blow. No way. He was going to hack you to pieces, taking his own sweet time with it while you were still alive and feeling every swing of his axe. "Big words, Vegeta. You are the only person I know who loves to inflict pain in small doses, like this." She produced her bandaged wrist again for his viewing pleasure, regarding him disdainfully all the while. "...And then act like it is nothing until the next time you inflict damage."

She could feel his eyes travel the winding the path the white gauze took on its encirclement of her arm and hand, but nothing came of it save more silence. It was so dark that she couldn't make out much of his facial expression, but it didn't matter. After whatever ego trip he was on subsided, then she could be sure to expect the cruel mockery.

"Take that as a warning, then." The gruffness in his baritone surprised her slightly. "...And stay the fuck away from me."

"With pleasure, Vegeta. At this rate, I'm going to be in a body cast within a few months."

An upward snake of his mouth was his only response to her then, even if she couldn't see it. At length he added, "...When I need you to fix the Gravity Room or get me some sustenance, then I will call for you... and only then."

Oh, sure. _'Stay the fuck away from me... except when I call upon you to be my perpetual slave for life'_, she thought bitterly. "Whatever, Vegeta. If it keeps you from going on a killing spree, then fine. I'll fix your damn GR, and I'll even fix you food. But that is it."

"Agreed."

Wow, that had gone a bit easier than she expected. Vegeta was never easy to deal with, but on rare occasions like these he could prove her wrong. "Good. Now if you will excuse me, your _highness_..." She latched on a load of exaggeration on that last word, smiling to herself when she heard a non-committal grunt from his direction. Without wasting another word or minute on him, she slipped on by Vegeta and found her way into the kitchen. From somewhere out in the foyer, she heard the distinct sound of footfalls beginning to ascend the staircase again. They shook the foundations of the house a little, but at the same time they were cautious in a way they hadn't been before.

Bulma couldn't help but smile at that. _Looks like I'm making him look before he steps, for once_. It would be beyond hilarious if the same predicament came of Vegeta and her mother, who might have been awakened from the litany of swearing going on at the bottom of the staircase. The more she thought about it, perhaps not. It would most likely end in Vegeta smiting off the entire Briefs family. That turned her waning smile into a frown.

Sighing to herself for the hundredth time that night, Bulma employed herself into finding what could be found within the fridge. The pain in her hand had receded to a dull ache, although moving it in certain directions would cause the hurt to flare up again. Man, she really had to pay attention to it this time. If she kept up with the way she had been handling it lately, it would no doubt be broken in a matter of days.

As she swung the thick door of the fridge aside and the interior light immediately clicked on, Bulma's eyes grew wide. She surveyed the contents of the refrigerator, her expression completely aghast. Oh no, he _didn't_...

But he did. She could plainly see that.

"_VEGETA!_" She yelled up the stairs, shaking the walls with her cry.

There was no reply, but she expected none from him anyhow. Slamming the door shut to the empty fridge, Bulma stormed up the staircase and up to Vegeta's room.

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A/N: Well, there is Chapter Three. Please R&R! I haven't been getting many reviews for this, so if anyone thinks its going badly, please let me know. Right now I am kind of in the dark as to what you guys think of it. Thanks!

~Bura

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	4. Confrontations

**__**

Event Horizon: Chapter Four

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine..

****

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Somewhere out in West City...

"Sir?" A young, meek attendant peeked around the door that led into his superior's darkened office. There was no source of light from within it; save for the shaft that had invaded when the young man had opened the door.

"I've been waiting," came a deep, gravely bass voice. "Have you the analysis?"

"No, sir..." the man replied timidly, adjusting his thick wire frame glasses.

"What did I tell you about deadlines, Yamato?"

"I'm sorry, sir... I just.. well, I'm working as fast as I can, with all the resources available to me. It should be at least another twenty-four hours."

"Tsk, tsk. You know, I had great things planned for you. Great things." The great plush chair behind the heavy Victorian desk swiveled to face the attendant in the doorway. The occupant within it paused, and then brandished a glint of pearly white teeth towards his underling.

"Sir?" the man stammered, unconsciously backing away. "I-I... don't understand." He hit something solid behind him, causing his neck to crane up and discern what stopped his retreat.

Two large, burly guards stood at his back, their expressions shuttered off with grim lines outlining their mouths. They advanced, and the attendant had no choice but to move the way they herded him.

"We like to stick to deadlines here, Yamato. We always have." A pause, and then a slow, measured laugh could be heard filling the spacious room. "I made sure you understood this from the outset. Failure to comply is never an option with me."

"But... sir..." The man's voice quavered, even as he regulated the two men behind him with terror.

"You had your warning." The pleasant tone in his superior's face caused him to whip his head around, eyes impossibly wide.

"Wha.."

One of the men behind him brought a large chunk of arm around to the far side of the attendant's face, while the other left to carefully shut the office door with a subtle click.

The young man had no time to react. As soon as the guard's arm effectively grabbed a hold of the opposite side of his head, he gave a jerk. Yamato's head spun, shifting obscenely until it was facing the wrong way on his body.

A distinct crack filled the room, soft but implicit. A winding rattle, and then a stuttered gurgle were the next in line to the first sound. The guard let go of the attendant, who sagged to the floor like a sack of potatoes. He was gone.

"Well, that takes care of that, then. Take him out and leave me." The man at the desk steepled his fingers across a green ink blotter, his last command breezing out with a bitter chill.

Both of the large men, still standing, nodded silently and gathered up the corpse. It took one of them to carry, and one to lead. They deserted the room through a side door on the left, one that did not lead out into the main hallway.

At his desk, the remaining occupant of the office leaned back into his chair with satisfaction. Another trifle, done away with. One pudgy hand reached for a large box of expensive cigars located in a lower drawer inside his desk. He pulled back the sliding slot, revealing his prize. Ever so carefully, he selected one and removed it from the cigar box. In the next second, it was lit and well on its way to a place between two thick lips.

He contentedly took a deep puff of the cigar, turning away to face the large window overlooking the city below.

As the multicolored array of lights winked up at him like brightly burning stars, he blew a perfect plume of smoke into the air. Yes, he owned them.

All of them.

________________________________________________________________________

**__**

Capsule Corporation, The Briefs' Estate...

Bulma pounded up the stairwell, her actions a mockery to the caution she should have showed it instead. Her slight frame resounded with each jarring vibration shooting up her calves, but she paid it no heed. There was no way on Kami's green Earth that she was going to overlook Vegeta's ransacking of the fridge this time.

The first couple of times had been looked over, albeit with much grumbling and muttered threats behind the Saiyan's back. Her father had warned her not to bring their grievance to Vegeta during the last time it took place. He feared retaliation, while Bulma's mother simply swept up a shopping list and whisked off to the grocery store with a hearty goodbye and not even the slightest show that she had been wronged as well.

There were times that she wished she could overlook it as her mother always did. Then again, her mother couldn't discern good from evil to save her own life. There was something eerily depressing about that.

A couple of long strides down the hall from the top of the stairs took her to the guest room Vegeta had occupied ever since that fateful day he had come to live with them. The door was solidly shut, more than likely locked from the inside. "Vegeta! You come out here, right this instant!"

She half-fancied that the door would swing aside, and Vegeta would come out and beg her forgiveness.

__

Get real, Bulma.

Yeah, that would happen the day Kame House became a secluded island headquarters for the next feminist revolution... headed and coordinated by the venerable Master Roshi, of course.

"Go away, woman!" came the expected reply from behind the heavily wooded door.

"How original, Vegeta!" she shot back.

There was a long silence, and for a moment she began to believe that Vegeta had come to a point where he just decided to ignore her from then on out. Well, she wouldn't have that. Not if she had to wake up the entire household.

"Damn you, Vegeta! Get out here and stop acting like a scaredy cat!" Her attention dipped to the bottom of the door, one leg poised back before she let it go like a slingshot. It connected with the door, causing the wood to reverberate with a loud 'WHUMP!'. When she still hooked no reaction from the annoyance inside, she wound her foot back for another strike---

---Just as the door opened from within and she gave another full kick at the very same time.

The look on Vegeta's face was priceless. The blow that contacted with his bare knee was far from painful, but it did sting like a solitary hornet had decided to hone in on his kneecap. Dressed in nothing but a pair of black boxers and a white tank top that the breezy Mrs. Briefs had picked up for him, Vegeta wasn't exactly garbed for any type of surprise assault. He had come to the door to make her sorry for openly accusing him of taking up the role of 'scaredy cat'. The Saiyan Prince did not hide, not even from a loud-mouthed wench who did not know when to shut up.

Bulma brought her leg back the instant she struck him with her white tennis shoe, placing her foot even with the other and she braced back in shock. "Oh, Vegeta!!"

He drilled a black look at her face, before dropping it to his offended knee. "What the _hell_?!" He advanced with sinister intentions, his hands reaching for her like the touch of death. She yelped and spun, frantically trying to get away to anywhere but there. She didn't have far to go, in the end. Vegeta easily caught her by her trailing blue tresses in a blur of motion, entwining his fingers before giving a good yank.

The scream that broke through her vocal chords caused him to flinch. Her screeches constantly had that effect on him. If anything, he should have seriously thought about investing in several sets of earplugs.

"Crap, Vegeta! I didn't mean to hit you!" She had ceased her struggles; one eye clenched shut while the other strained to keep him in her peripheral vision. The fist bound with a trap of hair just above her head twisted, causing her to mewl. It was pathetic, to even give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain. Another jerk, and tears spiked her eyelashes. Oh, Kami... her scalp was on fire!

"Never," he gave one last good pull before continuing, "..do that again. Understand?"

She nodded mutely, still reviving herself to a shred of dignity after the last yank. "Fine... just.. let go!"

He did, much to her relief. The tears brimming in her eyes were already being held at bay while she backed up several feet from his person before turning to face him. "You bastard." The naked exterior of her good hand traversed her face on its backside, wiping away stray tears. "If you didn't unload us of food every chance you had, maybe I wouldn't bother you so much!"

"You should know well by now how much food I require. Even that primitive icebox doesn't hold enough on a regular basis. If anyone is to be blamed, it is you." He said it easily, without hesitation or flux to his words. At the same time, it seemed as if he were seated high atop some mountainous throne, scolding the low kitchen servant below him who had been errant in her judgment of his needs.

She just wasn't going to stand there and take that. "Kami, Vegeta. I hate you. You have no idea how much I wish you would just..."

Her words were cut short by the rapidly glowing ball of ki forming in his right hand. It fluctuated and condensed, before flashing cosmically bright. Vegeta's face was livid. He wasn't going to stand there and take her simpering, or even those simple three words that entire populations felt for him long before she was ever in the picture. They had screamed it, and he had heard it. It had been written into their bleak faces the moment before he obliterated them, and he had seen it.

He was a Prince, and it was time she learned her place in life... with or without the latter.

Bulma recoiled, feeling a cold layer of dread settle upon her heart. So this was it. Her parents would undoubtedly find her the next morning, a black scorch mark heaved through a gaping maw in the middle of her chest. She could already see her charred entrails winding a path down the hallway, leading up to Vegeta's room. He would then kill them next, without a second thought. The vivid mental imagery caused her to develop the sudden need to vomit.

The wretched expression of revulsion chasing across Bulma's aquatic eyes caused Vegeta to hesitate. He didn't know what made him do it. Hell, he'd seen untold masses give him the very same look before; why was this any different?

It just _was._

His ki unceremoniously powered down, and Bulma cringed, casting her eyes away. Mistaking it for the blast that would put an end to her existence, she waited with baited breath until nothing came of it. One eyelid popped open, and her shoulders slumped as anxious muscles loosed their tension. "Vegeta?" His name was an unerring question, a simple word with a complex context.

His muscled arm was still held straight out, away from his body. The minute she set her eyes upon him again, she wished she hadn't. The loathing on his visage burned so plainly that it was abysmal. "Get out of my sight," he hissed through gritted teeth, "I am not squandering even a particle of my abilities on the feeble insignificance that you consider life."

Bulma just stood there like a deer caught in headlights. The abhorrence he so clearly illustrated to her left her nearly blanching. It was short-lived, however, and a disturbing indifference rose to the forefront, clicking into place like an unknown defense mechanism. She allowed him a perfect view of her back as she did a one-eighty and left without even a parting word.

Somewhere between the time she had reached her own bedroom and the time she had initially begun to walk away, she heard the door to Vegeta's room slam. The sound reached her ears like an unreal roll of thunder at the eye of an invisible storm.

She slept soundly the rest of the night, her mind too shocked and paralytic to even permit the entrance of dreams and nightmares alike.

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Bulma awoke the next morning, refreshed and renewed. A smile nearly touched her face before the events of last night crashed down around her like a torrential downpour. Wavering between confusion and a mottled assortment of darker emotions, the genius rose and stood in the beam of sunshine filtering through the row of windows lining one bedroom wall.

It warmed her skin, but not the chill over her heart. _Man, it all went to hell and then some last night._

Sighing with a small shake of her head, Bulma quickly dressed for the day, choosing from her vast array of clothing selections with practiced ease. A little while later, she was clothed in a pair of hip-hugging blue jeans and a loose, baggy shirt with some athletic team logo emblazoned in blue on the front. It hung over the curve of her hips, shrouding them from view before ending at mid-thigh. It was decidedly not her style, and frankly it was a shocker to find she owned such a top. When it came down to Bulma Briefs' style, tight was in and loose was so very out.

...But today she was feeling so out of sorts that perhaps a change might be nice. Just for once.

Doing several turns in front of her mirror, Bulma quickly finished teasing the perm her hair was now subject to. It made her locks curl out in all sorts of directions, and it was no small wonder why Vegeta had such a lack of difficulty in getting a hold of some last night.

Suddenly furious again, Bulma slammed the comb flat against the surface of the dresser, bunching her hands into fists until the blood in her knuckles ran white. What an asshole. What a complete, fucking _bastard_.

So he hated her, did he? Well, she would be sure to show him the errors of his ways. She swore right there and then to put everything she had into rehabilitating him. One day he would wake up, and see just how deeply he had hurt her and others like her. From there he could only reasonably come to realize that the only one he couldn't like was himself.

Wishful thinking.

Abandoning those abject thought processes for another time, Bulma departed from her room, cautiously sticking her head out into the hallway for any sign of Vegeta. All clear. With their confrontation last night, she was going to make darn well sure she kept enough space between them for the next week or so. He needed some time to cool off, and so did she. There was no uneasy truce that had guided their toleration of one another before, so therefore their undoing in the hall last night had to be pieced back together, from the very beginning of their strained relationship.

__

You call what you have with him a 'relationship', girl? You start thinking like that and the next thing you know you'll be the next New Bedlam applicant.

Ok, so maybe she wouldn't go that far.

As she traversed the downward incline of the stairwell and made a brief foray into the foyer, Bulma picked up on the sound of someone humming cheerily. She had already deduced that her mother was well awake and cooking breakfast--- pancakes and bacon, by the smell of maple syrup and sizzling grease.

Dr. Briefs' daughter entered the kitchen, forcing back a yawn and a smile to her face at the same time. Mrs. Briefs' back was the only thing that could be seen at first as she bent over the stove, flipping flapjacks. When Bulma cleared her throat, the woman turned in a startled manner.

Placing a hand gently across a lacy cooking apron as well as her heart, Mrs. Briefs excitedly exclaimed, "Oh, there you are dear! I made my special pancakes for you today. Vegeta was already here, you just missed him." The empty-headed female cooed softly to herself, motioning pointedly down at a large, discarded plate full of syrupy pancake and bacon bits over at the kitchen table. "What a pleasant young man he is, Bulma! He ate everything I made and then some."

"He _always_ eats whatever you give him and then some, Mom." Her reply was extremely sarcastic, but Mrs. Briefs pretended not to notice... or more likely lacked the intellect to.

"Yes, such a good boy. Anyway, I noticed that there wasn't much food left in the refrigerator, so I just took it upon myself to fill it up again. I hope there wasn't anything special you needed while I was at the grocery store this morning, but I have a feeling I'll be going back within a day or two."

Did her Mom actually _like_ feeding Vegeta? A disturbing question.

"Where is Vegeta now?"

"Out in that contraption you built for him." She didn't elaborate further.

"Fine, whatever." So her mother had been early to rise in the A.M. and wait on Vegeta hand and foot. She would not make a disparaging remark about that fact... she couldn't. She sorely wanted to, but it was just plain wrong to do to her mother, whether she got it or not. Most often it was the not. "You know what, Mom? I don't think I'm hungry just yet. I'll go see what Dad is up to and then maybe after that..."

"Oh yes, your father is in his laboratory with that lovely young lady he brought home from the office."

"Wha--what? Run that by me again?" It wasn't often Bulma asked such a thing of her mother.

"I said your father has over an employee of his... or maybe it's a colleague. Is there even a difference?" Mrs. Briefs brought the end of the plastic spatula she had been holding to her chin, tapping it lightly as her eyes rolled up and over to one side as if deliberating over the two terms deeply.

"Hold that thought, Mom. I'll just go get the full report from Dad."

Her mother merely turned back to her simmering, never one to hold onto a logical idea anyways. "Alright, dear. I think he mentioned taking her on as an assistant for something or another." Another quick smile was cast over her shoulder, just as Bulma made to leave. "You can't have too many of those around, right?" Her burble was practically lost on Bulma.

"Uh, right. See ya later." Before the older woman could get out another word, Bulma was already headed out to her father's laboratory. Just what was he up to now?

The minute she walked through the double doors, which had automatically opened with a soft swish, she wished she hadn't. She was presented with a view of some woman's backside for the second time that morning, only this woman was a stranger. The young woman was fully figured from what she could tell, and was currently bending over her father, who was kneeling on the floor just ahead of her. His face was expectantly upturned into hers, although hidden by the wealth of long black hair she possessed. Bulma immediately whirled around and started to exit like a soldier on a marching drill.

"Oh, Bulma dear! There you are." Dr. Briefs straightened up, bringing his glasses back up to his wizened features before setting them on straight. The young woman with him turned, and for the first time Bulma noticed that she wore a pair of strange goggles that looked like binoculars attached to her face by a strap. The strap had been hidden among her wavy strands of hair, and it was with some added wincing that she removed them.

Her face was unmistakably pretty, the kind of pretty Yamcha or someone like him might appreciate. Her ex-boyfriend had always been one for an attractive face; it had been the first facet that had drawn him to Bulma in the first place. The woman's dark green eyes sparked with chips of emerald, but for some reason Bulma couldn't discard the feeling that she had seen that face somewhere before. It was like remembering an old acquaintance, a memory so vague that one could easily begin to believe that they were imagining things.

"I want you to meet Ms. Jet. She has some amazing theories for the advancement of optometry. Why, just now she was checking out the old irises to further her work. A permanent change in eye color for all those aesthetically minded people out there through liquid injection, without the nasty result of blindness for the individual."

Bulma made a face, just before she attempted to hide it. An injection through what? The eyeball? That thought alone made her cringe and grate her teeth. No, it couldn't be. What sane person would line up to get a needle stuck through their eye, asleep or not? Ugh. Well, at least it explained her father's position when she had first walked in. From her side of things, it had appeared that he... _ewww._

"Ah, Bulma Briefs." Ms. Jet stepped forward, using the hand that did not contain the odd goggles to reach out and shake Bulma's. "I've heard a lot about you, and personally I am very impressed. I think we will get along just fine."

Bulma froze in mid-shake. "Excuse me? Will I be seeing you around the compound often or something?"

Her father smiled sheepishly, turning guilty glances from one woman to the other. Ms. Jet had turned uplifted eyebrows to the shorter man, letting Bulma's good hand fall away. "No, uh, Bulma..." Dr. Briefs took a deep breath, before letting the explanation hang in the air all in one piece. "You see, ever since you were impaired by your... uh.. unfortunate accident..." He dropped his gaze to his daughter's injury, which she had self-consciously moved to the small square of her back and away from prying eyes.

Bulma filled in the rest. "You hired her as help... for _me_?" Her rage, unexpectedly released, caused her audience to give her a worried eye.

"No, not 'help'. She will be your assistant, until the sprain is healed. You can't continue the work in your lab with one hand, Bulma." Her father's voice was the voice of reason, yet it was clouded with the underlying knowledge that his daughter would be too proud to accept help outright. He had to reason it out and worm the logic past her defenses.

"I can't believe you did this, Dad. You didn't even think to ask me what I felt about it! I can get along fine without any _help_..." Bulma turned her narrowed eyes on her supposed assistant, quickly adding, "..I don't mean any offense by that, and I am sure you are quite capable of doing your part, but I don't think I will be needing you around my lab."

Ms. Jet gave a small nod, as if she plainly understood the betrayal Bulma felt. Other than this minute admition, she remained motionless.

"As for you..." Bulma turned on her father, sticking out her lower lip and curling it disdainfully at his lack of consideration for her counsel. "I can't believe you went and did this behind my back. I'm not a kid anymore, and I sure as hell don't need a babysitter!!!" She spun on her heel, stalking out in a huff.

Silence permeated the air in Dr. Briefs' laboratory. Finally, it was Ms. Jet that broke it. "How do you think she took it?"

Dr. Briefs made a subconscious adjustment to his thick glasses, setting them more squarely upon the planes of his cheeks and nose. His hands then went behind his back, clasping together as his eyes remained fixated on the point at which Bulma had disappeared through the doors.

"I'd say it went rather well, all things considered."

Ms. Jet scrutinized Dr. Briefs a moment more, before following his gaze to the entrance of the lab.

Yes, it _had_ gone well...

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A/N: Well, there's chapter 4. I was recently on another computer with DSL, and I happened to look at these chapters on the Internet. They showed html brackets and Japanese characters throughout the text, although through my home computer the text appears normal. If someone else has this problem as well, please let me know. Maybe you could also tell me how to fix it, since saving as a .doc and .txt removes formatting. Thanks, R&R!

~Bura


	5. Expectations

**__**

Event Horizon: Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine, as is 'Ms. Inka Jet' (Inka and Dr. Briefs now have a story pic, located at http://www.mediaminer.org/user_info.php?id=62164. Just scroll down and select the fanart title 'Dr. Briefs and Inka' from the list. Thanks!

****

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Capsule Corporation, Bulma's Laboratory...

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

That same mental litany had repeated itself throughout Bulma's mind the past hour. It was only now that she voiced it, even though there was no one to hear her frustrations.

__

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid...!

"Arghh!" Bulma shot up, her spine righting itself into a vertical pole that held her entire body locked in place. Alright, so it had been a mistake to try to clamp a sheet of metal down to the edge of her workbench. No matter which way she struggled with it, the clamp would either ignore her weak attempts to open it enough to pin it to the metal, or else it would spring apart altogether like some inanimate leapfrog and end up somewhere on the floor. This left her bending over at the waist to retrieve it, often standing up and walking a few paces to the newest spot the flippant tool had taken a fancy to. She would then return to her chair, and the nauseating cycle would start up all over again.

__

Stupid thing! I didn't come here to do stomach crunches!

Her father had had a good point. She had gone from being nimbly dexterous to the comparable equivalent of someone giving a thread and needle to a chimp with rubber gloves on. It was the first time that she had even tried to work around her laboratory with the sprain woefully intact. Unfortunately, things just weren't going her way.

Working one-handed was a lot tougher than she could have ever realized, but she was far too stubborn to admit it to anyone. She was Bulma Briefs, and she had it all. Brains, beauty, money and fame. Why should she admit that she needed help in the one aspect that gave her a tremendous source of pride?

Sure, she wouldn't hesitate to call on Goku or Yamcha if she were being chased by a gigantic reptilian. Hell, she would probably do more than just _call._

...But to ask them or anyone else for help in an area where her own technical genius came into play? No way. That was the one place where she stood out from the others. Without it, she would feel pretty close to nothing.

__

I mean, Kami, even Chi-Chi has some fighting ability! Without my inventions, what am I worth?

With that depressing thought, Bulma threw down the clamp she had been holding in her good hand. Her sprain was resting in her lap, worthless for what she expected of it.

__

Damn you, Vegeta. I wouldn't be in this position if you weren't around.

It was all his fault, of course. She would never forgive him, never in a million years. Even though the sprain would heal over a course of a month or so, Bulma would never find it in herself to forgive the action that led up to it. Telling him so to his face would no doubt give her a trail of mocking laughter, so therefore she contented herself to the fact that one day Vegeta would need help. It would be a certain help that only she could provide, and when that time came she wouldn't lift a finger for him. It wouldn't be something so frivolous like repairing the GR or keeping the fridge constantly stocked.

No, it would be something _important_ to him. No matter what threats he might bestow upon her, she would make sure to refuse him. He was more than deserving of it, where as she was not.

Leaning back into the steel-framed chair parked in front of her favorite work bench, Bulma reveled in the sound of grinding metal as the chair protested her shift in weight by creaking for all it was worth. She ignored it, save for the slight mental note made about oiling the chair's joints later. All thoughts of Vegeta discreetly slipped from her mind as she once again focused upon the clamp laying forebodingly atop the metal workbench before her. It almost seemed to be goading her, daring her to pick it up yet again and clumsily attempt to join it and a small sheet of stiff metal that she needed for the side of a fuse box. The fuse box itself was to be a safety backup for a new generator she planned to install in the Gravity Room. It would keep a certain houseguest that happened to side with nasty tendencies from going on a killing spree should a blackout ever occur.

She reached out, her fingertips grazing the cool metal surface of the orange clamp. The metal was beginning to rust in a few spots, but it was generally a good tool. Bulma hated to throw out useful tools simply for the fact that they weren't pleasing to the eye. New ones were nice, but they just didn't contain the charm of an old one until they had aged through time and work.

"Need any help there?"

The feminine voice from behind caught her unaware. She swung around in one quick motion, the chair beneath her nearly squealing from the abuse provided by the sudden rotation. "Who's there?"

"Forgive me, I did not mean to frighten you..." It was Ms. Jet. Ms. Jet? Didn't she have a first name? It didn't matter just then, because just the sight of the woman brought back all of Bulma's feelings of inadequacy.

"What do you want?" Her voice was clipped and curt, even to her. She really hadn't meant it that way, but it was already out.

The raven-haired hireling of her father's stood there in the automated doorway to Bulma's lab, appearing unsure. She began to back out, ducking her head a bit like a dog might when displaying submissive behavior. "I didn't mean to intrude, but Dr. Briefs insisted I stop to check up on you."

The blue-eyed scientist's cheeks flushed red with anger. "When will he get it? I don't need any checkups or help whatsoever. I shouldn't have even told him about this..." She stuck up her bandaged wrist poignantly. She seemed to be doing that far too often for even her own liking.

"He is worried about you." Ms. Jet said succinctly, pausing before adding, "Even the best of scientists cannot do much physically with one hand." Her words were rational enough, but Bulma still refused to see the logic. It did make her hesitate, however.

"I know he is, but that doesn't give him any right to assign me an assistant. I would have asked if I wanted one."

"There is a large difference between needs and wants." There was no chastising tone in Ms. Jet's tenor, only bare truth. Without asking for an invitation, the woman finally worked up enough courage to step fully inside Bulma's sanctuary. She walked calmly over to the workbench, where Bulma sat. Gesturing idly to the clamp and sheet metal lying across the worktable, she inquired, "Have you had any luck in getting this set up yet?"

"No..." Bulma's answer did nothing to disguise the sudden wariness she felt for the woman.

Again without asking, Ms. Jet reached across Bulma and retrieved the items in question. "I can put them together for you, all you have to do is instruct me in..."

"No!" Her second 'no' was an outcry of righteous indignation this time around. With one mighty push, Bulma was on her feet with one hand on her hip. "I told you, I don't need..." The ire in her voice was quickly lopped off as Ms. Jet quietly secured the clamp upon the sheet metal, fastening it tightly to the edge of the work bench.

"There.." Ms. Jet straightened up, eyeing her accomplishment with a small hint of satisfaction chasing across her emerald eyes. She pushed aside a wave of ebony locks, canting her head to one side to redirect her gaze to Bulma. A small smile pushed its way upward along the line of her lips by means of a friendly gesture, as if hoping for Bulma's approval on the matter.

She was to be greatly disappointed.

Bulma rubbed her eyes with her good hand, sighing in exasperation. "What did I tell you...? Please, it would make me feel a _lot_ better if you just left me to this." Before Ms. Jet could respond properly, Bulma had already made a hasty addendum to her first request, "I know it isn't reasonable to work in here with one hand, but if I take things slowly I can get a little done.."

"But what about the quality of your work? Your father instructed me to remain here and assist you with motor activity that can't be accomplished through the work of one hand. All you need to do is tell me what needs to get done."

Bulma had had enough. "Look, Ms. Jet..."

"Call me Inka if you wish." Ah, so _that_ was her first name.

"Ok Inka, read my lips... I understand why you have to be here, but I don't need help. Got it?"

The woman had up to this point been polite and courteous, but something iced her over. Her green eyes narrowed, cutting like shards of malachite into Bulma's. In a manner that hinted at restrained anger, Inka nodded tersely and spun on her heel. Tight-lipped and quiet for a march of minutes, no words passed between the two women as they both regarded their options.

One was bound by duty, the other by pride. Both were formidable obstacles.

In the end, duty relented and pride conquered. "If you truly wish me to leave you to your own devices, then I shall abide by your insistence. On the other hand, I will not be responsible for the failure to comply with Dr. Briefs' wishes..."

"Aw, Dad knows how I can be. He will understand. If you are worried about getting in trouble, don't."

"Alright." Twisting around at the waist, Inka scowled minutely at Bulma and shook her head. In the next moment, her high-heeled shoes were tapping towards the automatic doorway.

"What was that for?"

Ms. Jet froze in mid-step, a smile curving at her lips. She spoke evenly without turning around. "You remind me of myself. Determined to have your way."

__

Huh?

Before Bulma could reply to that, Inka had turned the corner and the double doors were already beginning to swish shut.. The confusion she felt at the dark-haired woman's parting shot caused her to stand there for some time further with a pensive expression on her face. What had she meant by that? There was definitely something she didn't like about the way that woman had said it, just something in the context alone that left her with the chills.

Frowning, Bulma mentally shrugged off the feeling. She had far more pressing matters to concern herself with, rather than pick apart some offhand comment.

...And that was when the big joke rained down upon her; no, she really _didn't_ have something much better to do.

Returning to her desk, Bulma reached for the readied clamp, now in place and holding the sheet metal to the edge of the wooden table. Halfway in-between this endeavor she stopped, deciding not to remove it after all. With all the luck she had been having lately, the damn thing would spring apart at a touch and fly right for her face.

She would just have to leave it for now and find something else to occupy her time. She could be stubborn, but when it came to inflicting herself with further injury, well... she simply wasn't that stupid or even that desperate. With a little sigh of temporary defeat, Bulma left her lab via the same route Ms. Jet had just taken.

________________________________________________________________________

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A Few Days Later, Somewhere in West City...

"Ah, yes. Ms. Karr. It is so nice to see you again."

"Cut the crap. You asked to see me?"

"Tsk, tsk. Do you always talk to everyone in this manner?"

"No, only you." Kit Karr stood with an erect posture before a rather large, Victorian desk. Behind it sat a man cloaked in shadow, as so often was his way of presenting himself. Running a hand through the shock of orange hair covering her scalp, the young woman awaited the large man's terms with subdued impatience.

"My, my. You are a mouthy one, aren't you? I'd hate to wash it out with soap." A contorted mixture of laughter accompanied by a contemptuous snort followed, leaving the man behind the desk to stroke his stomach. There was something very special inside, something only he and a few other unmentionables knew about...

Kit Karr's eyes flashed with livid heat. "Don't play with me. You asked me to be here, now what do you want?"

"It sure seems to me that your newfound lap of luxury has been more than kind to you. It has spoiled you, even." The man cocked his head to one side, much like an inquisitive dog. This was the only parallel, exempt from any names that he might be handed in association with dogs in general. The feral light in his black eyes shouldered up to the pearly brandishing of his front teeth. "Do you wish to return so quickly to where we first found you, Ms. Karr?"

Alarmed, the woman frantically shook her head. "No, sir." Her change in behavior was to be expected; the man knew which strings to pull and when. A few exchanged comments from the men standing guard over the ornate office doors behind Kit Karr caused her to fidget, her rage coming into play once more.

"At least now she knows her place," one chuffed.

"Eh, they all do and should," the other remarked snidely, "Barefoot and pregnant, or pawns for us men!" Both laughed.

"**_SILENCE!_**" The traded commentary behind Kit Karr was effectively quelled, leaving both guards with an ashen pallor and stricken faces.

Kit Karr swallowed, the sound engulfing her eardrums and ricocheting within her head. It had become nauseatingly silent. The man behind the desk finally stood, taking slow hobbles around the right side of the sprawling desk. "You will not make such foolish remarks in my presence about such a... precious state." Once again, his burly hand passed over the distinct bulge of his stomach; drawing horrified eyes down to the place his extremity glided across with loving ease.

Kit Karr fought the urge to spill her lunch, as hard as she would if she were fighting an opponent. She had no idea that things had proceeded this far, or if that it was even possible. The guards behind her could be heard, just barely. Their sharp intakes of breath and muddled, broken phrases of shock were not beyond notice. The young woman was beginning to feel the first pangs of a deep queasiness at the base of her gut. Gripping her stomach violently, Kit Karr turned away from the sight of her superior.

...Who was currently very, very pregnant.

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**__**

Capsule Corporation, The Briefs' Estate...

It was nearing the end of the day again, and Bulma Briefs had just finished reminding her father _exactly_ how much she had appreciated Ms. Jet's presence in her lab. Or at least failed to.

Their argument had ended in a drawn out silence, to the point that Bulma had turned around and left. Ms. Jet had thankfully gone home hours before, so there was no chancing that she might walk in upon a feud contesting whether she stayed or went. To tell the truth, Bulma wasn't sure who had won their little fight. Her kind father, whom she looked up to more than anyone else on Earth, had actually raised his voice to her. He had been worried, he said. She had rebuked this notion by mentioning her status as an adult, yet he bore on that she was never too old to be 'his little girl'. Whatever.

Plopping herself down upon the sofa in the living room with a large lack of grace, Bulma sprawled out so that her arms lined up along the back of the couch on either side of her body. Her chin tipped back, and she stared blankly up at the ceiling for several minutes while mulling over what there was left to do. Her mother was in the kitchen, preparing supper. Her father was still in his lab, most likely in some bad huff like she was. And Vegeta...

Vegeta was just walking in. The sound of a door swinging open in the foyer and then shutting firmly first alerted her to this fact, but she hadn't paid it much attention. Now he was there, crossing over into the living room. Stopping adjacent to the coffee table, the Saiyan bent down to swipe up the remote control to the big screen television set. This action alone caught Bulma's full attention. Vegeta wasn't one to watch television much, but when he did it was interesting to see what he liked to view.

Vegeta hit power, bringing the television to life in a roar of static fuzz. He flinched, causing Bulma to smirk. Swiftly changing channels, Vegeta continued to behave like he was the only person in the room. Never once did he give a passing glance down to the teal-haired woman with the puffed perm on the couch. In a way this annoyed her, but she could easily recall her solemn vow to stay out of Vegeta's way, no matter what the cost. He seemed intent on keeping his end of the bargain, too.

So the two stayed like that, Bulma observing Vegeta sift through the hundreds of television channels. This went on for about five or so minutes, and at the end of this time Vegeta seemed convinced that nothing suited his interest. He muttered something unintelligible about 'primitive human entertainment' and tossed the remote control to Bulma.

Unfortunately, she would never be able to tell if he meant to hit her in the forehead with it or not.

She was leaning towards 'meant to'.

"Owww!" She rubbed her temple recklessly, trying to soothe the hollow ache that resounded there. "Vegeta!" The remote had rebounded off her skull, landing neatly in her lap.

"What?" A smirk twitched into place, leaving him appearing amused by her outburst.

"You damn well know what!" Bulma snapped, eyeing him angrily. "What the hell was that for?"

"What do you think? It was an accident, just like all of your 'accidents' prior to this one."

"Like hell it was!" She raised a fist, causing him to bellow with laughter.

"Why sit in front of a T.V. when all the real entertainment is here?"

Bulma scowled, now taking the time to massage her forehead in small circles. She had feared getting knocked in the head from the spring clamp back in her lab... it just figured that she would take a hit one way or another. "You have some real problems, Vegeta. Those **really were **accidents. What you did just now isn't!"

He quieted a bit, but that infuriating smirk never faded. "You humans have a phrase you use... an 'eye for an eye', I think?"

There was an unexpected calm that descended upon them then, the stillness only interrupted by the constant ticking of a grandfather clock located to one side of the sofa. At long last, it was Bulma who broke it first. "If you see it that way, you should have all of your ki removed for six weeks. Then you will know how it feels."

He seemed completely perplexed by the odd remark. "What are you mumbling about now, woman?" His hands went to his hips while he towered over her, still standing. It seemed he was preparing himself for another long, verbal spar with her.

"My sprain.. my.." She pulled her injured wrist off the back of the couch, dropping it into her lap. Two pairs of eyes followed the movement, both of black and blue coloration.

Much like her wrist.

"Spit it out, woman! I don't have all day for your insipid mumbling."

"You sprained my wrist, remember?" Her soft voice floated up around them, oddly calm and collected for once. "I can't even work in my lab anymore without... help." She spat out the word, disgusted by it. "...And I don't want any, either."

"Good. Your point?"

She stared up at him bleakly. Oh, why the hell was she even trying!? Why was she even trying to make him understand? She had sworn against doing just that. All she would have to do was bide her time and then... but wait. Was she really that type of person? She had been mad back in her laboratory, and therefore she was not thinking clearly. But now her answer was as translucent as a window.

No, she was not one to wait and strike like some traitorous cobra. She would tell him now, should he care or not. She was counting on the latter, anyhow.

"You don't get it. If I don't have help, I can't work in there at all. I can't do anything that requires attention to detail with one hand, which most of it does. You took that away from me."

He didn't respond, in fact, he looked vaguely detached from his very self within the room. Without looking at her, he turned a gaze out to the front windows, which gave a nice view of the Capsule Corp. front yard. As though it was hard for him to do so, he stated, "So you can't repair the GR if it breaks down?"

"Not for awhile. Dad can probably do it for you, but he is pretty busy as it is. Just be careful with it for the next month or so, ok?"

His gaze returned to her, and then dipped to review a previous observation of her hand. She returned his study, curious about his behavior. For Vegeta, he was acting really, really weird. It was giving her the creeps. Raising her good hand, she rose off the couch and waved it in his line of vision. "Earth to Vegeta..."

In the split second she had done that, he snapped up one his own hands to encompass the good one she was motioning in front of his face. "Do not even _think_ to get near me, woman." No smirk played upon his face now. It was just the hard drill of his eyes on hers, with the heat of his hand offsetting the poor circulation of her own. They stayed like that for far longer than necessary, as if searching each other's eyes for something they could not find.

Bulma tugged at her hand, still held in place between their chests. Vegeta's strange behavior brought back the fear that he might indeed do something heinous to the one hand she still had left, leaving her sorely disabled for sure. "Uh, Vegeta? Let me go." She gave one last, sharp tug. He released her at the same time, shoving her back a few steps.

"Take that as a warning, woman. Do not cross me." In a whip of artificially created wind and a fuzz of quick motion, he was gone. Bulma raised her eyebrows, knitting them together.

Take what as a warning? Her sprain? Something else? The way he looked at her... oh, Kami. It wasn't for the first time that she noticed just how attractive Vegeta was. Anyone would have to be a fool not to see his physical appeal.

It was too bad that didn't matter much in the bigger scope of things. Even a kitten was cute until it showed its claws. Vegeta was no kitten, but he sure knew how to use the proverbial claws. Bulma scowled daggers into the carpet until her eyes burned and watered around the edges.

Damn him.

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A/N: Well, there is Chapter 5. As I said in the disclaimer above, I drew a picture of Inka and Dr. Briefs, in the scene of Chapter 4 where Dr. Briefs introduces Ms. Jet to Bulma. Hope you guys like it! R&R, as always! I kind of like knowing if people still want to follow this story. Thanks! : )

~Bura/Burah

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	6. Back In The Saddle

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Event Horizon: Chapter Six

Disclaimer: I do not own DB Z/GT ect, nor the characters themselves save for the few that will be introduced in the upcoming chapters. The minor OC 'Kit Karr' is mine, as is 'Ms. Inka Jet'

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Capsule Corporation, the Briefs' Estate...

Months idly marched on in a droning, endless procession. Bulma found herself caught up into the dictations of her father's large corporation, just as Dr. Briefs urged her to do. She was to take up the business one day as the CEO, and therefore her father made sure to it that she understood every in and out that there was to know. By now her sprain had healed itself, and she was no longer inept from showing off her technical wizardry to anyone with a pair of eyes. Ms. Jet no longer came to visit her, but Bulma often found her standing off to one side when her father worked in his lab. She would offer him advice when he asked for it, and he in turn would commend her for her attention to detail. In a way, it made Bulma jealous. Years ago, that had been herself at her father's side, piping up with keen observations now and again while he praised her for her quick mind.

Now it seemed more and more that she had been replaced, stuck in the role of some press attractant for Capsule Corp. while her father messed around with an adopted daughter... who was certainly old enough to be just that!

If this was the end to her troubles, then she was sorely mistaken. There weren't just the new burdens of taking up more of her father's duties as a future CEO, no, there was Vegeta as well. His behavior was worrying her to no end. It was like living with a ticking explosive, knowing each space between seconds could very well be your last. The past five months had seemed to pacify him somewhat, at least in respects to how he treated others. No longer did he stalk about the house, demanding this and that. When he wanted something, he was sure to bring it to the Briefs' attention, especially Bulma's, but... something had changed.

Perhaps she should have been thankful. Vegeta hadn't threatened anyone with a stray ki blast in all that time. In fact, he had been pretty reclusive, ever since 'warning' her in front of the television all those nights ago. Genius that she was, she still didn't have the slightest idea of what he had been talking about. Even so, if this was the result...

...Who was she to complain?

Then again, it brought back the idea of a ticking time bomb back to the forefront. Vegeta had begun to wear off on her a little, unfortunately. She was now paranoid, scrutinizing every single action he took in her presence and waiting for the inevitable blowout. This observation would take place at such mundane times, even if she was merely seated in the kitchen and enjoying a meal when he walked in to retrieve some edible ration from the bulging fridge. Her spine would stiffen, causing all of the vertebrae in her back to stack up in a perfect, vertical line. She would keep a guarded watch on him through the corner of her eye, chewing slowly. As soon as he grumbled about the lack of good nourishment and left the kitchen in a huff, she would happily relax. This was becoming a constant event whenever she saw him or happened to be in the same room as him. Frankly, it was developing into an obscene tradition. 

She was definitely growing weary of it.

Much later in the day, Bulma found herself resigned to the very place she had last held that ambiguous discussion with Vegeta. Beyond and outside the windows that linked a picturesque view of the Capsule Corp. yard, the glowing orange ball known as the sun was beginning to sink below the horizon. The rays hit the glass, dispersing several glaring beams that struck in just the right place on the large television set.

__

'Of course', she thought bitterly, _'It just had to hit there, didn't it? My life just can't get much worse.'_

Grumbling to herself, she eased up out of the deeply cushioned sofa beneath her. The cushions sprang up with a sense of relief as her weight lifted, and she made her way over to the windows to draw the shades. She had just settled herself there moments before, and looked forward with an evening with her favorite soap. Her television was currently portraying the correct channel, but the sun's glare was making it impossible for any real observing to be done. The usually dark and debonair Ricardo was as doughy-faced as an albino, and his eyes even appeared to glow red... when she could make them out.

Primetime television, in her opinion.

As she struggled briefly with the barricade that never really seemed to do much for blocking the light anyways, her eyes passed over the once-injured hand that had by now healed. She was glad to be back to work several months before, and had leapt into it with a passion that nearly bordered on obsessive desperation. It was as if she were frantically trying to make up for the time that had been wasted, and everyone around her was quite dumbfounded. Her parents really kept their mouths closed around her on the subject of her frenzied work pace, save for the occasional question about her well being, one that she casually waved off. They would simply nod, worry lining their faces before turning away. They knew better than to press her, and with her father's new assistant and her mother's own love for cooking, they were rarely around in the first place.

And now, after all that time of hard labor, she was feeling the burn. It was time to slow down; she had caught up and was able to squander a few moments of relaxation for herself.

With a last jerk to the window shades that made sure of their aligned placement over the large windows just behind them, she gave a resolute nod and turned back to the couch. It was time for some peace and quiet. Time for some...

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'Pro-Wrestling? Huh?'

Several silent images flickered across the screen, one second showing a man dropping a much smaller one onto the blue mat, and in the next moment the larger brute was preparing to pile-drive him.

Even more disturbing, she got the sudden feeling she was no longer alone.

Her eyes leant her an immediate display of the culprit, sitting there like a space age Troll doll where she _should_ have been sitting.

"Hey!" she exclaimed, frustration welling up into her face.

Vegeta was seated and resting his head against the back of the couch, now boredly sifting through different octaves of volume with the remote. One moment the volume would be so low that Bulma had to strain to hear it, but soon it would rise so high she felt the need to flinch and clap her hands over her ears. The process would then repeat itself. For Kami's sake , what the hell was wrong with him? Had he completely lost it? The Saiyan was almost slumped against sofa, but then again he held a certain royal air to the pose that somehow an ordinary human wouldn't be able to emulate. It was easy to understand that she wouldn't hear him enter the room, but now it just made plain sense on why she hadn't heard the television blaring while she worked on blocking out the irksome sun. The bastard had put the thing on mute before switching channels on her.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Vegeta?" She stalked up to him, hands on her slender waist. Her face was contorted into a scowl, one that demanded an explanation. All these months, and she would be on her way to a record for the amount of words spoken towards him within such a small timeframe.

He didn't wager a look towards her, of course. Yes, she often forgot how insignificant she was to him, and it never failed to privately infuriate her. Why, she was the most influential woman on the planet, or damn close to it. If she had a rival, she didn't know of them. Still, he sat there for all the world like she was nothing but a lowly peon, unworthy of even the smallest hint of recognition on his part.

Putting her personal frustrations aside, she tried a third time for his attention. "VEGETA!" she screeched, "PUT THAT damn thing down so I can watch my show."

How... odd. She could swear she was still screaming at the top of her lungs, but then it dawned on her that the asshole had used the remote and the announcer's voice to completely drown out her entire tirade. The nerve of that... alien! No more Miss Nice Bulma.

The paranoia, the frustration of standing there while she heaved with unspent anger and clenched and unclenched bloodless, white fists... it all came to a head. She stormed forward, her eyebrows drawn dangerously low and together. Her left hand reached out to extract the remote from Vegeta's loose yet large grip. As soon as she had it from him, she was going to hit him over the head with it. Repeatedly. After that, she was going to stuff it up his ass and then laugh before she was incinerated...!

Ok, the ultimate punishment of such rash actions suddenly claimed her raging mind all too late. She regretted it sorely.

As she made contact with his hand in an attempt to grab the device of her grievance, he looked up at her. It was nearly shocking to see him do so after he had all but done his best to ignore her that whole while. Black eyes met blue, and his scowl mirrored her own save for the sadistic and cruel aspect of it that had always been present.

Bulma hung on a second of stagnant air, balancing herself in a posture that was upsetting her balance. She couldn't continue to keep it, bent over at the waist with all of her weight forward and set on one foot while she hovered over Vegeta. The blue-haired scientist began to wobble, but she also waited for the world to end at the same time. With the murderous look on his face that said all too well that she had come to close, entered _his_ personal space and dared to threaten him when he had made it all too clear that her presence was unwanted, she knew it wouldn't be long before she was a smoking carpet burn.

He continued to stare at her, but for some reason he didn't fall through on the intent of violence his expression promised.

It was simply shocking when he let go of the remote, stood up in the blink of an eye, and stood beside her. Her focus on anything else slipped, and so did her balance at the same time. As she fell forward, he grabbed an upper arm bruisingly and studied her as hard as he had before.

'_Did he just stop me from falling on my face? He would have loved that! Ok, this is **really** creeping me out. Was it something he ate at lunch, maybe? I gotta talk with mom..._'

"You can have the damned box if you want to watch more simpering fools like yourself sob over meaningless dalliances in their equally meaningless lives," he spat. "That sport you call wrestling is an even larger joke. You call that fighting? If I but raised a finger, I could..."

"You could what, blow them up? Send them into the next dimension? Oh, spare me," she interrupted with a roll of her eyes. In all honesty, his sudden speech took her aback even more. Just when she thought he wouldn't utter a word to her, too. In a way she was grateful they were on shouting terms again, it relaxed her paranoia in the most twisted of ways imaginable.

"Shut up, baka!" The grip on her arm tightened, and she yelped as pain signals shot through her body like ice in the veins. It was his turn to appear surprised when she emitted this sound, but the expression was only temporary before it was filtered out by his usual black look. The grip on her arm lessened, but still remained firm as he raised her arm. It was the same arm that had harbored the sprained hand, which was of course no longer sprained. He grazed his line of vision over it, and then raises his ebony eyes to hers. Then, with no apparent reason, he dropped her arm completely and took several steps back in what could only be described in the blink of an eye to her.

As she absently rubbed the throbbing flesh where his hand had latched on seconds prior, she winced and muttered. "Damn you, Vegeta. I just don't get you."

"You're healed." It was all he said.

"Yeah, I was a couple of months ago. Didn't notice? I'm not surprised."

He had no answer for that.

"Get the hell out of here, Vegeta. Leave me alone. Go train or eat or do whatever the hell you have to do. Just leave me _alone_." Right then, she meant it. She didn't want to see him again anytime that night, or even all week. Perhaps she would be quite happy without him at all. The ache in her arm was becoming a dull one. The silence between them lengthened, and then dispersed as his clouded expression intensified.

"Gladly," he said, all at once gone with a rush of air.

Bulma stood in the living room, once again alone. Something was different with him, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Why did he seem so... changed? She got away with another confrontation, much like their last in this very room. The only difference was that now she was the proud owner of a ringed bruise that was yet to make a true appearance, not a sudden sprain. Did this mean Vegeta was getting soft? Not likely, although she was apt to begin to believe that he was actually easing up on her somewhat after that last incident. Thank Kami.

Despite this, she sat down and turned off the television set with her hard-earned trophy in hand. After that was done, the remote was dropped down on the cushion next to her. She forgot completely about her soap and sat for several long hours into the night, thinking on things yet to come.

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A/N: Hee. Here I bet you thought I disappeared completely off the face of this earth. Nope! I'm sorry to update almost exactly a year later, but.. I went through a lot of school, work, and changes. I wanna get this fic done, and I never planned to give up on it. It'll get done, trust me! Sorry about the short chapter, and still there is no mention of stuff with Kit Karr and those other guys.. have no fear! I'll get to them in the next chapter, which will be longer. Ciao for now and thanks for still sticking with me (if you have)!


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